Macheath Character Analysis

POLLY (crying): All those poor people, just for a few bits of furniture!

MACHEATH: And what furniture! Junk! You’re right to be angry. A rosewood harpsichord — and a Renaissance sofa. That’s unforgivable. And where’s a table?

MACHEATH: We were boyhood friends, and though the great tides of life have swept us far apart, although our professional interests are quite different — some might even say diametrically opposed — our friend­ship has survived it all. […] Seldom have I, the simple hold-up man […] undertaken the smallest job without giving my friend Brown a share of the proceeds (a considerable share, Brown) as a token and a proof of my unswerving loyalty to him. And seldom has the all-powerful Sheriff […] organized a raid without previously giving a little tip-off to me, the friend of his youth. […] It’s all a matter of give and take.

POLLY: Mac, last night I had a dream. I was looking out of the window and I heard laughter in the street, and when I looked up I saw our moon, and the moon was quite thin, like a penny that’s all worn away. Don’t forget me, Mac, in the strange cities.

MRS. PEACHUM: Let me tell you this, Jenny: if all London were after him, Macheath is not the man to give up his old habits.

Now here’s a man who fights old Satan’s battle:
The butcher, he! All other men, mere cattle!
He is a shark with all the world to swim in!
What gets him down? What gets ‘em all down? Women.
He may not want to, but he’ll acquiesce
For such is sexual submissiveness.

BROWN: I hope my men don’t catch him! Dear God, I hope he’s beyond Highgate Moor thinking of his old friend Jacky! But he’s thoughtless, like all men. If they should bring him in now, and he were to look at me with those faithful friendly eyes, I couldn’t stand it. Thank God, there’s a moon: once he’s out in the country, he’ll find his way all right.

MACHEATH: In spring I ask: could there be something to it?
Could not Macheath be great and solitary?
But then the year works round to January
And I reply: My boy, you’ll live to rue it.
Poverty makes you sad as well as wise
And bravery mingles danger with the fame.
Poor, lonely, wise and brave — in heaven’s name!
Good-bye to greatness! I return the prize
With this my repartee of repartees:
None but the well-to-do can take their ease.

MACHEATH: What does a man live by? By resolutely
Ill-treating, beating, cheating, eating some
other bloke!
A man can only live by absolutely
Forgetting he’s a man like other folk!

CHORUS OFF:
So, gentlemen, do not be taken in:
Men live exclusively by mortal sin.

POLLY: Mackie, are you very nervous? Who was your father? There’s so much you haven’t told me. I don’t understand it at all: you were really always quite healthy.

MACHEATH: Polly, can’t you help me out?

POLLY: Of course.

MACHEATH: With money, I mean.

MACHEATH: The outlaws, bandits, burglars, gunmen
All Christian souls that love a brawl
Abortionists and pimps and fun-men
I cry them mercy one and all.

Except the coppers — sons of bitches —
For every evening, every morning
Those lice came creeping from their niches
And frequently without a warning.

Police! My epidermis itches!
But for today I’ll let that fall
Pretend I love the sons of bitches
And cry them mercy one and all.

ALL: Combat injustice but in moderation:
Such things will freeze to death if left alone.
Remember: this whole vale of tribulation
Is black as pitch and cold as any stone.

POLLY (crying): All those poor people, just for a few bits of furniture!

MACHEATH: And what furniture! Junk! You’re right to be angry. A rosewood harpsichord — and a Renaissance sofa. That’s unforgivable. And where’s a table?

MACHEATH: We were boyhood friends, and though the great tides of life have swept us far apart, although our professional interests are quite different — some might even say diametrically opposed — our friend­ship has survived it all. […] Seldom have I, the simple hold-up man […] undertaken the smallest job without giving my friend Brown a share of the proceeds (a considerable share, Brown) as a token and a proof of my unswerving loyalty to him. And seldom has the all-powerful Sheriff […] organized a raid without previously giving a little tip-off to me, the friend of his youth. […] It’s all a matter of give and take.

POLLY: Mac, last night I had a dream. I was looking out of the window and I heard laughter in the street, and when I looked up I saw our moon, and the moon was quite thin, like a penny that’s all worn away. Don’t forget me, Mac, in the strange cities.

MRS. PEACHUM: Let me tell you this, Jenny: if all London were after him, Macheath is not the man to give up his old habits.

Now here’s a man who fights old Satan’s battle:
The butcher, he! All other men, mere cattle!
He is a shark with all the world to swim in!
What gets him down? What gets ‘em all down? Women.
He may not want to, but he’ll acquiesce
For such is sexual submissiveness.

BROWN: I hope my men don’t catch him! Dear God, I hope he’s beyond Highgate Moor thinking of his old friend Jacky! But he’s thoughtless, like all men. If they should bring him in now, and he were to look at me with those faithful friendly eyes, I couldn’t stand it. Thank God, there’s a moon: once he’s out in the country, he’ll find his way all right.

MACHEATH: In spring I ask: could there be something to it?
Could not Macheath be great and solitary?
But then the year works round to January
And I reply: My boy, you’ll live to rue it.
Poverty makes you sad as well as wise
And bravery mingles danger with the fame.
Poor, lonely, wise and brave — in heaven’s name!
Good-bye to greatness! I return the prize
With this my repartee of repartees:
None but the well-to-do can take their ease.

MACHEATH: What does a man live by? By resolutely
Ill-treating, beating, cheating, eating some
other bloke!
A man can only live by absolutely
Forgetting he’s a man like other folk!

CHORUS OFF:
So, gentlemen, do not be taken in:
Men live exclusively by mortal sin.

POLLY: Mackie, are you very nervous? Who was your father? There’s so much you haven’t told me. I don’t understand it at all: you were really always quite healthy.

MACHEATH: Polly, can’t you help me out?

POLLY: Of course.

MACHEATH: With money, I mean.

MACHEATH: The outlaws, bandits, burglars, gunmen
All Christian souls that love a brawl
Abortionists and pimps and fun-men
I cry them mercy one and all.

Except the coppers — sons of bitches —
For every evening, every morning
Those lice came creeping from their niches
And frequently without a warning.

Police! My epidermis itches!
But for today I’ll let that fall
Pretend I love the sons of bitches
And cry them mercy one and all.

ALL: Combat injustice but in moderation:
Such things will freeze to death if left alone.
Remember: this whole vale of tribulation
Is black as pitch and cold as any stone.